Love and Dreams: The Coltrane Saga, Book 6

by Patricia Hagan

  He went to the French doors and pulled a velvet cord that opened the white sheer curtains so that the magnificent view could be seen in all its glory. “I’ll send Amelia to help you with your bath. You’ll find an alcove behind that silk screen over there”—he nodded toward it—“with a tub unlike any you’ve ever seen, I’m sure. Marnia had one of the natives carve it out of coral in the shape of a seashell. You’ll also find the finest of bath oils and soaps, imported from Spain and France.

  “Remember,” he said, going to the door to leave her, “if you need anything at all, you’ve only to ask. If we don’t have it here, I’ll send the boat to the mainland to get it. Rest this afternoon, and I’ll see you at dinner.”

  When she was alone, Jade went to stand at the open doors to gaze out at the dazzling sea and drink in the sweet smell of the flowers. She could hear the soft rustling of the leaves of the banana trees, the birds singing. It was painfully odd, she acknowledged, to realize there was nothing out there beyond that stretching horizon that beckoned to her. No one was waiting. No one cared where she was or what was happening to her. It was beautiful here, and, so far, there was kindness. But without Colt, what did any of it matter?

  She turned from the window, her eyes swept the room, and suddenly a heart-shaped frame on the dresser caught her attention. She went to pick it up, saw that it was a picture of a bride and groom. The groom was Bryan, and the bride was a breathtakingly lovely woman in white satin and lace. Her elegantly styled hair beneath her delicate veil was the color of Jade’s own. Her eyes were shining green, fringed with thick lashes. The couple was the image of two people desperately in love with each other, optimistic of a future as bright as the smiles on their faces.

  So this, she acknowledged, was Marnia.

  Jade thought she was incredibly beautiful.

  “You and she, you are alike.”

  Jade whirled, startled, at the sound of the native woman’s voice. “Oh, Amelia, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  The pleasantly plump woman was contrite. “Me not mean to scare. I come to see if you need me. Master Bryan tell me to.’’

  Jade waved away her apology. “It’s all right. I was just lost in thought.” She gestured to the picture. “Is this Master Bryan’s wife, Marnia?”

  Amelia nodded sadly. “She was beautiful lady. Like you. You look like her. So pretty.” She flashed her smile once more, hopefully asked, “You will be her, no?”

  Jade was at once horrified at such a concept, quickly shook her head, and set the picture back on the dresser. “No. No, nothing like that. I’m just Master Bryan’s guest, that’s all. But tell me,” she went on, turning to her curiously, “what happened to Mrs. Stevens? How did she die?”

  Amelia’s eyes clouded then, and she busied herself by going to the bed and turning the covers back. “You need to rest, master say. I bring you egg soup, tea. You eat. You drink. You sleep. First, I make bath. He say you want bath.”

  Jade watched her silently, decided she would not impose herself by prying. Bryan would tell her what he wanted her to know when the time came…and she had to ask herself if she really cared, anyway. As cold as it seemed, her own misery was enough; she did not want to share anyone else’s.

  She waved away the offer of the bath for the moment, for she was terribly tired. “Let me just lie down for a little while,” she said drowsily, and in seconds was fast asleep.

  Amelia stood beside the bed uncertainly, her heart going out to the pretty young woman who lay across the bed, tears flowing down her cheeks even as she slept. She heard a soft sob, then the whispered plea, “Come back, Colt, please…”

  Feeling she was intruding, she tiptoed from the room, closing the door gently behind her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jade slept the rest of the day, a soft breeze flowing across her skin, which was deliciously soothing to her sunburn. She awoke feeling refreshed, but she found herself in an odd emotional limbo.

  She could now acknowledge, with pain instead of hysteria, that Colt was dead.

  She experienced no trepidation at the awareness of being somewhere in an isolated part of the world, around people she did not know.

  She realized that everyone who knew her presumed her dead, but that thought provoked no emotion whatsoever.

  It was as though the restful sleep had prepared her to be resilient to worries and concern; had enabled her to accept, without question, that nothing else could cause her despair.

  She had suffered, been wounded…and now withdrew within herself to feel nothing.

  Amelia came to tell her it was time for dinner, which would be served on the terrace so she could enjoy the sunset. She went to her former mistress’s closet and presented to Jade a soft cashmere robe with the explanation that Master Bryan thought it might feel more comfortable against her sunburn than a gown. Jade gratefully accepted it.

  Amelia helped her brush her hair and pin it in soft curls atop her head, then suggested a pearl necklace from Marnia Stevens’ onyx jewelry box to complement the rounded neckline of the robe, with drop earrings to match.

  When she was ready, Jade opened the French doors and stepped out onto the terrace and breathed deeply, deliciously, the heady fragrance of night-blooming jasmine. The sun had almost dropped below the horizon, painting a rippling swirl of luscious pink and coral across the turquoise water. A half-moon was rising; tropical breezes caused the leaves of the banana trees to dance and undulate seemingly in rhythm to the musical calling of macaws and parrots in the branches of swaying palms. The world was bathed in a chiffon light of rainbow hues.

  “Have you ever seen anything quite so beautiful?”

  She did not jump at the sound of Bryan’s voice, for she still felt as though all her nerves and emotions had left her. She could have told him that the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen was Colt presenting her with a diamond ring, and a proposal, before throngs of people at the Mariinsky Theater.

  Finally, she responded, “No, I don’t think so. You should take pride in knowing you created such a place.”

  He handed her a glass of wine, which she gratefully took. “It wasn’t my creation,” Bryan explained. “It was ours—mine and Marnia’s. We did it together, and now I think of it as a shrine to what we felt for each other.”

  Once more she was impressed by, and envious of, how easily the name of the woman he’d adored slipped off his tongue. Wishing to think of other things, she gestured to the robe she was wearing. “Thank you. It was a good idea—much more comfortable than regular clothes—but I think by tomorrow I’ll be over the worst of it.”

  “Let’s enjoy our dinner now. Later, if you’re up to it, we can go for a walk on the beach. It’s going to be a lovely evening.”

  He led her to a small round table situated at the edge of the terrace. It was covered with a pale pink linen cloth, and there were matching napkins and crystal glasses and fine bone china and silverware. A centerpiece of wild orchids rested between softly burning candles. He held out her chair for her, and she thought she could not eat a bite, that this was all a waste of time. But then Pauly, the houseboy, began to serve the food, and suddenly her appetite surged.

  “This is a cassava pie,” Bryan explained, delighted when she accepted a second helping. “Actually, it’s a traditional Christmas dish of Bermuda, but I asked Pauly and Amelia to make one especially for tonight because I thought you’d enjoy it. Each household has its own recipe, I’m told. This one is made of pork, chicken, and the crust is from the grated root of the cassava plant.”

  “Delicious,” Jade said, surprising herself by being so hungry, but the food, the atmosphere, were conducive to a very pleasant time.

  As they enjoyed their meal, he gave her a brief history of the Bermudas. “The islands were named for a man named Juan de Bermudez, who is said to have shipwrecked around here about 1503, and they’re charted on a map dated 1511 and recorded as ‘La Barmuda’. The first settlement didn’t come till the early 1600s, when Sir George Somer
s, a British admiral headed for Virginia in his ship the Sea Venture, blew off course during a storm and wrecked and wedged so tightly in the reefs that the vessel stayed upright. The crew and almost two hundred passengers worked together to build two ships from salvaged material and went on to what’s known as our Jamestown, Virginia, colony a year later.

  “When they finally got there,” he continued, “they found the people starving, so the admiral came back here to get food. Unfortunately, he died here, and from then on, his sea mates referred to the islands as the ‘Somers’, in tribute to him. Colonists were sent and founded the city of St. George, which was subsequently sold to a group who called themselves the Bermuda Company, but sometime toward the end of the seventeenth century, the King of England annulled the original charter and made Bermuda a colony under the Crown, and it’s been that way ever since.”

  “How were you able to buy your own island?” she wanted to know.

  He explained that he’d made arrangements through a British trading company that held title from the original purchase that had never been claimed by the Crown. “This island is so small, there was no use for it, so they were glad to get a sale. It took me several years to get the house built, but Marnia and I enjoyed every minute.”

  “Marnia.” Jade mouthed the name thoughtfully, curiously. “That’s an unusual name. What does it mean?”

  “Ironically,” he obliged, “it means ‘Maiden of the Sea’, and she was truly that. She loved to sail as much as I did. I think that was the secret of our happiness, we were so much alike.”

  Jade’s understanding smile was bittersweet. “Not colt and me. I’m Irish by birth, Russian royalty by heritage, and I was a ballet dancer. Colt was an American cowboy in France. Complete opposites, but I loved him from the first moment we met.”

  He urged her to tell him how that had come about and, sipping brandy-laced coffee and nibbling bananas dipped in toasted coconut and a sherry sauce, she began to tell him her story. At first, it was painful, but her new and welcomed state of apathy took over, and the words began to flow easily. Bryan laughed on hearing the story of how Drakar had planned to use her to make Colt realize all women were not alike, nodded with tender understanding as she explained how she had fallen in love.

  In turn, he shared his own story of his romance with Marnia, how his family had at first voiced opposition, then had been won over by her charm, grace, and beauty.

  Warmed by dual memories of happiness climaxed by tragedy, the bond between them grew. They rose simultaneously from the table as if by tacit agreement and left the terrace. Walking down the stone steps toward the grassy arms of the waiting lawn that led to the pink-tinged beach, Bryan took her hand easily; and, lost in thought and mutual sharing of experiences, Jade absently accepted it, if she even noticed.

  They reached the beach, and Jade removed the satin slippers she’d taken from Marnia’s closet so that she could feel the cooling water lapping at her feet. Bryan began to ask her more questions about herself, her past, and she found it easy to describe her life in Ireland, in Russia; but when she began to share her love of ballet, her dream of opening a dance school in America, she suddenly paused in midsentence and addressed herself in silent horror: Why was she telling him all this? Why was she sharing such intimate thoughts? Only four days ago, she had no other dream except a future with her husband, and now she was on a remote island with a stranger and she…she was a widow.

  She pulled away from his grasp, pressed both her hands against her face, and breathed deeply.

  Bryan made no move to touch her. They had reached the cove where he’d known such joy with Marnia, and he began to unweave the intricate murmurings and tortures of his own private hell. He spoke in a hushed monotone, so low as to barely be heard above the gentle lapping of the waves and the melodic song of the night birds.

  He finished by soberly confessing, “I came here to drown myself.”

  She looked up at him sharply, and dully, he went on. “I haven’t told you how I lost Marnia and our son. They were staying at a small hotel in the city while our house on the Hudson was being redecorated. There was a fire one evening while I was out. They burned to death.” He shuddered, sucked in his breath, let the ragged edge of grief subside before continuing.

  “I buried them, along with my heart, and I told myself nothing else mattered except getting drunk and staying drunk so it wouldn’t hurt so bad. I went through denial and disbelief, the refusal to accept, and, finally, anger. I made up my mind I didn’t want to go beyond that. I wanted to die. The best way to do that was to come here, where we were so happy, where we made our son, and I was going to drink myself into a stupor and let the tide take me to eternity…wherever that might be.”

  For the first time since he’d begun his pensive soliloquy, he looked at her. She thought him even in that moment to be a very attractive man, found him sensitive, kind, and she empathized with him for his own sake, not in the mutual bond of another grievous soul.

  “Then I found you. When I first saw you out there in the water, I thought you were Marnia.” He paused to emit a sharp, bitter laugh. “That had happened to me plenty of times, because I stayed drunk, and when a man’s drunk, the devil has lots of room to play with his mind, to torture. He made me see Marnia in dozens of different ways, but always laughing, always enticing, and always eluding me when I reached out and tried to touch her. I’d cry when I realized it was a dream, drink a little more, and then the same thing would happen all over again. A vicious cycle. A cruel cycle.”

  Jade did not speak, knew it was not the time, sensed his need to purge himself of the guilt of his behavior.

  He shook his head in self-loathing for his weakness, then looked at her with a sudden new brightness in his eyes. “I thought you were a special manna, a gift from God to appease me for taking Marnia, and I started having all kinds of unhealthy thoughts, about how you were mine, and we were meant to be, and I’d bring you here and keep you forever, and you could be Marnia to me. But being with you, caring about you…” He reached to take her hand and stared at her intensely, begging for understanding. “I came to realize none of those things I was thinking were true. For the first time since Marnia’s death, my mind is functioning without whiskey, and everything is coming clear.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Jade, but I accept that you aren’t Marnia, you aren’t a gift from God. I just happened to be there when you needed me, and that’s the secret, don’t you see?”

  Jade blinked, bewildered. Standing before her was a very complete kind of man, mature, intelligent, wise, and quite in control of his thoughts, words, and deeds. This was a man she could lean on, if need be…and trust.

  “The secret,” he went on, “is my being needed. For the first time since I lost my wife and son, who were my reasons for living, someone needs me, and that’s a damn good feeling. I’ve got a reason to go on, if not for you, for other people.”

  Jade did not speak, too awed by his confession, his self-awareness; knew she still had far to go herself to be that self-possessed again, if ever she would be.

  They stood together, there in the cove, which, in the silver moonlight that filtered down through the swaying palms, seemed almost hallowed. A long time passed, and neither spoke, too lost in meditation. Finally, Bryan turned, and they began to walk back toward the house.

  “As I told you before,” he said, “you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, but when you want to leave, just let me know, and I’ll take you to the mainland and arrange for you to book passage to—” He froze in midsentence, looked at her curiously. “Where would you go?”

  She shook her head, her mind still back there in the cove, wishing she had come as far as he in coping with her life. “I suppose I’d go on to New York. My bank account is there. Colt wanted to ensure that my inheritance would remain solely under my control. His will probably revert to his family, but I don’t need it, and I doubt anyone knew our finances were set up that way, so mine will be waiting.
Money won’t be a problem.

  “I’ve no reason to return to Russia,” she continued. “As I told you, I was never really happy there. And I don’t want to go to France. As much as I love Colt’s family, they’ve enough problems of their own without worrying about me. It’s probably best that I don’t even contact them and let them know I’m alive. Besides, I’m afraid the shock of Colt’s death is probably going to be more than Mr. Coltrane can bear with his health as poor as it is.” She asked him of his own plans.

  He grinned sardonically. “You mean now that I’ve changed the one to kill myself?’ He shook his head in shame to have ever contemplated such weakness. “For now, I’m going to stay here. My business interests back in the States are run by competent people. I think I need a good, long vacation, and besides, I’ve got everything I need right here. I can sail, swim, fish, and there are friends on the mainland if I get lonely.”

  He gave her a sharp, sideways glance. “You can stay, too, and I think you realize by now you’ve nothing to fear from me. You make me happy when you let me look after you, Jade.”

  The whisper from her heart was barely audible. “I don’t know, Bryan. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Suddenly he turned to clasp her shoulders and force her to look at him as he urged, “Stay. You don’t have to leave now. You don’t need money here. I’ve got enough for both of us. Just stay…be my friend.”

  His eyes searched hers for some hint of acquiescence, but all he saw reflected in the dull green depths were dismay and confusion.

  “I don’t know,” she repeated, turning her face to the sea, to where the night wind might take her closer to the love she once knew. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I need time.”

  “Of course.” He turned once more and led her the rest of the way to the house in silence, giving her privacy for her thoughts. He whispered good night outside the French doors to her room, then walked away.